


Roots of a New Bloom

by Nuvian



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action, Adventure, Crime, Dark Fantasy, Detective, Drama, Existentialism, Horror, Mystery, POV First Person, Perception, Psychological, Romance, Supernatural - Freeform, Suspense, Werewolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuvian/pseuds/Nuvian
Summary: William Annacker, a young detective, had faced a rough existence growing up in the damp shadows of the foggy streets of Claustershire, the capital of the Aurelian Union. But the trials of life never cease, as he is well aware; they merely grow and evolve with us as we move onward through life.But as a new case hits the police department of Claustershire old memories begin to surface as new conflicts arise and unravel. In a world riddled with werewolves, vampires, and other supernatural creatures, conflicts are never far from home. Unfortunately, sometimes, they follow us to our very door.





	1. Neon Memories — Part I

* * *

**1.1**

* * *

It is said that when someone faces a difficult situation, they are walking on a tightrope — and this may indeed be a useful way of looking at the world. The world is riddled with contradictions, with rules and expectations, laws and natures, each pressing upon us as opposite worlds from every side; all trying their hand at tipping the balance and making us fall. Every nudge and shift, push and pull, making us sway from side to side as the abyss below us pangs of hunger. So, we keep our eyes peeled, steel ourselves and walk onwards, hoping for our salvation; hoping to finally reach a safe place to stand.

_I steady my breathing as I approach the darkened alley. Steam and smoke filled the corridor from disconnected pipes and chimneys strewn among the buildings, a coppery accent that would provide a decent complement to the red brick and mortar, of which every building in this neighborhood was made. Or, at least it would have, were it not for the ungodly hours this job always forced on me._

_The beast sighs out loud as I made my approach, holding back a tired yawn. The sound the beast made took on an unnaturally deep and guttural sound, which had no trouble filling the echo-prone gutter as naturally as the garbage which spread itself randomly around the rough pavement. Once, around these parts, I had even seen some mortar which had hardened with an old sock protruding from it... I wonder if it's still there._

_The beast turned and stopped as it strolled under one of the few lampposts in this district of the city, illuminating its dark eyes and protruding fangs in a warm golden glow. If only our lovely lampposts worked their magic, the same way the sun would...  
_

_I cease my movement and hold out a hand to my right, causing the man at my side to come to a standstill as well. Apart from the teeth and the eyes, this 'beast' looks positively human. Well, if you chose to look past the unkempt hair, ragged clothing, and wild expression, anyway. 'This is a werewolf,' is what I had been told, 'and to hunt these creatures came with the job,' is what they said._

_We had been following this specific case for a few days, waiting to see if the allegations put forward by the werewolf's neighbors were fact or fiction. And now it seemed we had no grounds to deny their reality. The beast was hiding within a human family, keeping up the appearance of being an ordinary husband and stepfather. But as with most cases, the truth cannot be suppressed forever. Since the start of this evening, a night of a full moon, the man had gone feral, coming undone as the world forced his nature forward and into the moonlight._

_"Are you going to stand there all day, or what? Can't you find the stones to follow through with your 'hunt' after all?" The werewolf sneered._

_The man at my side, a fellow hunter named Jack Gardener, chuckles as he unstraps the sword at his side. I already had mine drawn, as I use a much lighter sword than he, and thus my guard was already up. It only takes a split second for things to go wrong._

_A satisfied smile overtakes Jack's features, as the older hunter beside me brandished his claymore; twisting it around in circles; elaborate, useless flourishes that did little more than expend energy to impress the ladies and intimidate weaker opponents. It seemed, in this instance, that the effect was rather minute since the werewolf bared his fangs; undaunted by the amount of twirling silver._

_Not a runner then, this might be more trouble than we first thought... although, I probably should've guessed that, given his lack of a reaction when he had first noticed us._

_I choose to take a step to my left, motioning with my sword for Jack to circle around the opposite side. It turned out, that even against previously unthinkable opponents, the oldest tricks still bear some fruit._

_"Scared?" Jack says teasingly, glancing at me for a second._

_"Shut it old man," I mutter out an equally gruff reply. "I just want to get this over and done with so I can head home."_

_It seems my uninspired banter only afforded me a brief snort and a yellow-toothed smile in response._ _  
_

_Tch._

_The werewolf growls in frustration and takes a step forward; the worn-out shirt bucking under the pressure of the beast's abdominals and tearing at the chest as the muscles bulge outward._

_I pull my left foot farther back, prepared for the lunge to come when the opponent before me would finally lose their patience. I almost faced the creature sideways, when the dam finally broke, and it launched itself forward with even more velocity than I had anticipated._

_The first claw came in a telegraphed downward arc from his right shoulder. It appears the werewolf before me was quite the brave creature, despite its obvious inexperience._

_I deflect and keep my thin sword locked with the beast's sharp nails. After the tremors from the collision of silver and hard bone had finished challenging my grip on the blade, I take a step outward and to my left, premeditating the following horizontal swipe intended for my right flank. The new position offers me better leverage over my blade in the bind. And with my positional advantage, I force my blade up and towards the beast, piercing it through its upper chest._

_All this occurred in the blink of an eye, and the beast staggers back with a deafening roar of pain, contending with the sound of sizzling flesh left in my blade's wake. A healthy serving of blood bursts forth from the wound, trying to dull the burns the silver left in the creature's flesh._

_I pull up the small handgun I wield as a sidearm and fire off a shot into the firm skin which had broken under my blade. A fire visibly breaks out below the creature's shoulder following the silver bullet. The wound had deepened, and the creature's blood now flows generously from the hole in its chest. Its life-essence splattering the ground in thick crimson spurts, painting the ground to the tune of the creature's accelerating heart rate._

_Jack saw this as his opportunity to strike, and he seizes on the opportunity immediately. A reckless move; beasts is the most dangerous when it is injured and panicking._

_I motion Jack to stay back, as the werewolf starts flailing. This was quite a strong specimen by all accounts, and any strike from the creature's claws would leave one with a deep gouge to contend with._

_"Stay back!" I shout as my visual warnings went unheeded by the older man. But Jack moves forward with his claymore, intent on cleaving the beast's head off. Alas, by the time my voice reached his ears, his claymore was already on a collision course towards its intended target._

_The next fractions of a second pass painfully slowly; forced to watch the claymore begin to bite into the beast's neck as it launched itself backwards, its claws aimed straight at my partner's heart._

_I managed to rotate my wrist into a useful position — knowing well that this will sprain my right hand — and carve into the beast's neck from the opposite side of the claymore. The two blades lodging into the beast from each side make quick work of the neck, separating the head from the beast's shoulders... But with the rigidity of a werewolf's body and weight behind the attack, it does not matter much._

_The beast stops growling and goes limp halfway through the lunge, causing the lodged blade to slice all the way through its neck. Yet the calamity is not yet done, as the sharp claws continue on their trajectory, and end up piercing Jack's chest straight above the heart, as the two land in a ravaged bloody heap._

_My feet spring into motion, and I fling the now-smoldering, headless carcass off of my partner. I tear at his shirt to get a look at the wound the attack must've left behind._

_I immediately notice that the claws had gone in deep. I try to put pressure on the wound and search his eyes for consciousness. To my amazement and horror, he was wide awake and heaved heavily as blood flowed out of his wounds and onto my hands._

_The fluid spread out beneath my palms, and flowed in between my fingers, as I attempted to hold the mangled and jagged wound closed as best I could. Some of it even on my black leathery half-cloak._

_No one ever tells you how hard it is to apply pressure to someone's skin when it is marinated in blood._

_The old man chuckled beneath me and gathered his breath to rasp out what both he and I knew would be his final words. "I told you... it... would be me before you..." What the hell... He coughed up a mouthful of blood which joined the already sticky mess of my fingers._

_I had to swallow a lump in my throat. This guy..._

_These are your last moments, you idiot. Don't waste them on worthless, wretched people. Damned senile... I should've put you in the nursing home long ago._

_"I— ..." I open my mouth, but Jack interrupted me with a raised hand. Using his last strength, he tears off the pendant adorning his neck. It's a pendant I recognize — a pocket watch on a chain — one he brings with him wherever he goes. He shoves the bronze and steel contraption into my chest._

_"Take care of it, William... all of it..." He smiled faintly at me. A warmer, gentler expression then I had ever seen on the old man's face before. Out of all times, why now?_

_The blood loss had Jack unconscious within a few moments, and his heart seized to beat soon thereafter._

_I pick up my sword and gun from where I had discarded them behind me, Jack's blood now smearing across each weapon's handle. Tucking them away in my belt, I slowly slide my back down the wall behind me until I sit on the hard cobblestones. The cover of the pocket watch opens gently with a soft click. Inside the panel covering the watch face, I see the face of his wife and daughter, each with merry expressions on their faces. My heart breaks slightly at the unfairness of it all. In just a few seconds, two families lost their fatherly figures to senseless violence, all at once. Another two men gone, and yet I remain..._

_The pristine watch face reflected my own haggard appearance and bloodstained hands. Its cold metallic weight was heavy in my hands as I slowly inspected it. Remnants of Jack's blood had wiped off on the backside of the metal in my hands, and it slowly dripped down on my clothes. The viscous crimson liquid joined the other drying clots on my half-cloak with a dull splat. A strange mix of anger and déjà vu overtakes the guilt in my stomach._

_Heh, even old man Jack can be more accepting of his death than I can be. An old memory begins rearing its ugly head. A time when my hands were soaked in the blood of yet another friend of mine. The time of the Great Crossing — where all my problems first began..._

_All these years' work and nothing to show for it. Above me, I see the clouds have gathered and a faint rumbling erupted in the distance as the first drops of rain fell before my feet. I narrow my eyes and exhale sharply._

_"What good is work when I always end up exactly where I started?"_


	2. Neon Memories — Part II

* * *

**1.2**

* * *

"William?" I heard a soft voice calling through the half-open wooden door which leads to my bedroom.

"Yeah?" I almost yawned through my entire greeting, making it nigh-on intelligible.

"You were calling out in your sleep again... Is everything okay?" The girl at the door to my room took a few steps towards me.

"I'm fine," I muttered as I fight a minor war within my head trying to persuade my muscles to leave the warm comforts of my blanket. "I was just remembering some stuff." The concerned look did not leave her face, but apparently, she chose to leave it be.

"You should get up soon. Breakfast is getting cold."

The girl invading my apartment was a high-school student named Sophia Gardener. As to why she keeps coming to my apartment every few mornings to make breakfast... well, anyone's guess is as good as mine. _One should think a stressed-out student has better things to do with their time. Is all_ _the_ _tax money going to the school system all for nought?_

"Roger that," I sighed as I resigned to my fate of sacrificed comfort.

The bed protested almost as much as I did when I left the covers and became immersed in the cold spring morning air, which had insisted on making its way inside my apartment walls while I slept. My feet swung out unto the temperate carpet which welcomed my toes in its soft layers of fabric. _Th_ _is certainly wasn't a waste of money, though.._ _._

I washed my face in the basin, feeling the pores on my face contract at the contact with the cold liquid. I slapped my cheeks a few times, watching as they redden in response. I could almost hear a mad scientist gleefully exclaim 'It's alive!' as my tired visage met my eyes in the mirror. Forcing myself up from where I was leaning on the sink, I saw that Sophia was already eating at the dining table.

While I was lazing about between worlds, she had managed to prepare eggs, toast, and juice for both of us, as well as a cup of coffee for me. Good kid.

I gratefully grabbed the cup and took a sip, feeling a bit of life returning to my veins. I mumbled out my gratitude as I sat down at the table.

I had been enjoying the food and drink for a few moments before I realized something quite important. "Sophia?" I started.

"Yeah?" _Ah yes, the same impassive voice I am used to._

"This is a Sunday... right?"

"Yeah."

"So... how come you are here? Why did you chase me out of bed while it is still dark outside? This is my day off."

Sophia tilted her head to the side and sighed, pointing to a brown envelope on the table. "Weren't you supposed to be a detective?"

I grumble a bit under my breath as I reclined into my seat, reaching out towards the paper encasing which couldn't possibly hold anything I'd like to see.

"Uncle Richard wants to see you down by the station. There is some new case they need you for in the department."

_I take back my compliments! Bad kid! Coming here on ungodly hours in the morning bringing me work and on a Sunday no less! And she has the nerve to cheekily smile at me? I'll never forgive her!_

_At least not for the next two minutes, while I read through this document... That's a conservative estimate mind you!_

I felt a bit of the recently obtained life slowly seep away from my soul once more, as my eyes trail down on the paper inside. _Sorry, dear caffeine it looks like you cannot save my mood today after all._

There had been a murder in the Upper Ward — one that rustled some feathers. That was not exactly surprising though; murders, in general, are not commonplace in the Aurelian Union. This was especially the case in the Upper Ward, where even violence was seldom seen even in its less wealthy areas. And so, the upper ranks saw fit to drive us out of our homes on a Sunday to ease the minds of those with deep enough pockets to reside in such places.

Those frustrations I gave word to while I gathered my uniform from my room, arming myself with a trusty sword and firearm in the process. Upon inspecting it, the silver-steel alloy of the thin blade still sparkled as it always had, providing me with a degree of comfort as it came to rest in the sheath at my side. The coat-hanger provided the dark and leathery half-cloak which completed the black and white uniform of a blazer, dress shirt and trousers. The last item was a pristine steel and bronze pocket watch which found its usual place in the internal pocket of my black blazer.

Sophia's head popped out from the kitchen, which resided on the left side of the hallway — almost by the door. "Your hair is still messy you know. You might want to fix it." Her tone of voice was as emotionless as ever.

"Leave me be," I complained as I looked at myself in the mirror next to the coat-hanger.

 _She is sort of right though._ The multitude of long dark strands that made up my hair looked quite analogous to the woolen threads of a seamstress' worst nightmare. I violently shook my head for a bit and patted it down with the palm of my hand until the crown of my head regained some degree of roundness.

"Well, I'll be off... Oh, and Sophia?" I called out into the hallway. Her head quickly popped around the corner in the same cute pseudo-comedic way as it did before. _Seriously, what is she aiming for?_

"Yeah?" She looked at me curiously.

"Thanks." Before she could reply, I closed the door on her and went on my way.

_Well, that's odd... she almost looked shocked at my words._


	3. Neon Memories — Part III

* * *

**1.3**

* * *

The hustle and bustle of our HQ quickly engulfed me as I stepped inside the glass and wood structure. Inside the door, I quickly head up to flights of stairs to my department. It seemed that somehow, the noise got even worse when I entered the department, and I winced slightly in response.

"Ah, good morning William, fancy seeing you here," A feminine voice rang out from behind the wooden desk at the front. Meet the head secretary and full-time nice girl from our department: Julia Green. I furrowed my brows a bit, wondering just how many people this case drove out of bed on a Sunday.

"Morn-" Before I could finish my greeting, a large hand slapped my back, almost causing me to bite down on my tongue.

"Good morning William! Nice to see you up early on a Sunday." I could practically feel the smile of the male offender behind me.

Grunting in protest, I elbowed him in the stomach, earning me a breathless whine in response. I turn around, and damn right I was; the guy had the nerve to grin at me while clutching his hand at his stomach.

"What is it with you two?" I audibly groaned.

"Aww come-on William, don't be such a sourpuss." Ms. Secretary sighed.

"A sourpuss?" I could practically feel the remaining tiredness around my eyes deepen and drag my features towards the floor. _Calm down dear brain. The floor is not the comforting nest you left at home._ I tried to tell myself. _If I choose to lay down here, the devils in front of me will only grow more insistent._

"Yes, a sourpuss!" David almost looked ecstatic. "That's what you always do every morning, muttering about how there is no such thing as a good morning, so 'morning' should suffice." My sigh was practically dragged out of me. Meet David Grace, the neatest, most shining man of our department and a true mother hen to colleagues unfortunate enough to catch his eye.

I was about to raise my protests in my defence... "First of all, I'll have you know that," but unfortunately, David beat me to the chase.

"Oh yeah, the chief wants to see you immediately." He casually interrupted me, almost looking absently at me. _And you have waited until now to tell me?_

With even more complaints ready I opened my mouth, but I was quickly shoved towards the door which led to our department. _Fine. Be that way. I'll have my revenge soon enough._ I vowed as I let myself be dragged away from the entrance.

"See you around Julia!" David waved at her as he continued to push me down the hallway, the secretary looking to be at a complete loss of words from behind her desk.

****— // —** **

"Come in," the voice of the chief rang out muffled from behind the heavy oak wood door. I surreptitiously let David take on the responsibility of opening the accursed contraption. _I bet the old lady will give me a scolding for that one... No matter. This is a Sunday damn it!_ I mentally stomped my foot down in protest.

A rebellious teenager? More like a rebellious twenty-five-year-old.

Wiping off my complacent expression, which almost threatened to turn into a self-deprecating chuckle, I entered the room silently behind David, slowly making my way to one side of the large mahogany desk. A vast array of papers rested chaotically atop the desk's dark surface, confusing me ever so slightly. This was the chief we were talking about. Not some rank-and-file detective who struggled to keep their papers in order. This case must be a headache for every chain of our department then...

Our Chief, an older gentleman by the name Richard Gardener — Sophia's uncle — gestured to all the papers lying around his desk.

"As you both can probably see, keeping things in order have been quite the challenge as of yesterday evening..."

I took a subtle glance at David, who looked like he had seen a ghost. Not because of the amount of paperwork, oh no, that could never get David flustered. See, David was a real freak when it came to organizing. As the employee of the year who showed up with a perfectly ironed shirt, form-fitting suit, and neatly tied tie each morning, he was routinely praised for his ability to keep things in order. Praise that he certainly deserved, mind you; but each positive also has a flipside: A man who only surrounds himself with order simply cannot work with such blatant disorder staring him in the face.

I silently wonder whether the Chief had secretly planned to torture my partner-against-crime, as his hand twitched, and his face paled ever so slightly.

"That's why I had to call you both in this morning," His eyes held a degree of silent remorse. The closest both of us would probably ever get to an apology for the overtime this was expected to cause.

We both nodded in unison, understanding the need to move on quickly. The less time spent on sentiment, the more time is spent on solving the case.

"The reports arrived on my desk this morning. I attempted to offer each of you as much information as possible..." he began, sighing softly to himself. "But honestly, most of the information here is buried within piles upon piles of complaints... It's hard to make out what is true, from what is mere frustration and conjecture."

I took a slight step forward, indicating I had something to say. The Chief, reliable as he was, noticed this immediately and motioned for me to speak up.

"Surely there must be common interpretations we could use to glean some truth from all of that..." I gestured to the papers littering the desk.

"These people all live in the same area. It could easily be argued, that the similarities between accounts originate from sentiments shared by friends and acquaintances," _Which just makes establishing a concrete case all the more difficult._ It was an excellent excuse too. With enough false information, it is almost impossible to find the grain of truth. Yet it seems the needle of the proverbial haystack must be found, and expediently at that.

"Having conflicting testimonies is not exactly unusual," the Chief began as he scratched the back of his head. "But this is honestly something else."

And something else it certainly was. In total, over a hundred reports and testimonies had been offered to the police, the majority of which being as productive as a trainee during a crisis. Which would be a fitting and humorous comparison had it not been for said trainees' high standing and social influence. The general gist of it was not that complicated though, even if I had my suspicions that there was more to this than the parents lead on.

Friday night, 21-year-old Peter Mason went home from a social function he attended to with his girlfriend, Eva Merry. The victim lived on his own in a small house financed by his parents, but his girlfriend still lived with her parents, as she felt she was too young to move out; being a year younger than her companion. His parents returned Saturday afternoon from a business trip, interring to visit the boy to announce their return to Claustershire.

They immediately noticed the front door was left open and entered the house to find their son murdered in his own living room. The knife, seemingly from the victim's kitchen, was left in the boy's chest with traces of a bloody fingerprint on it; and large signs of a scuffle marred the otherwise fine living room. Given the wealth of the neighbourhood and the statements from the boy's parents, it seemed like the house had not been intruded upon since the murder, and nothing was reported missing. _Not a derailed robbery then..._

I descended the stairs, my hands in my pockets with David in tow behind me. "This is a pain," I muttered to no one in particular, but David picked up on it anyway.

"A pain indeed," David commented as he gave me a sideways glance. "But you'll solve it." He spoke with certainty. I was about to voice my protests, but he cut me off for the third time today.

"I know you will, William, and so does the Chief. As soon as you sit down in that interview room, the case is as good as solved!" He said with a cheeky grin on his face.

I internally swore profusely at the detective sergeant at my side, as we made our way down to the interrogation chambers. The interrogation chambers were on the ground floor of the station to allow for easy subjugation of uncooperative suspects. The corridors on the interrogation floor felt more like a maze than it did a building for government officials; with long shadows cast all over the gloomy hallways.

We arrive at a small cross-section, where policemen would usually gather to get coffee and tea before attending their duties. Their mulling voices dulled as David and I entered the room, casting an uneasy gloom over the boisterous atmosphere.

"That him?" A hushed whisper rushed out from one of the corners.

"Damn right, you know the bugger by that creepy cloak. No one from here would wear such a thing."

"But at his age? Isn't that far too early for detective work?"

"Dunno lad, but I'd clear off him if I were you. He certainly gives me the creeps..."

As my infamous reputation conveniently switched the topic of conversation in the entire hall, I smiled sardonically to myself. David looked at me with worried eyes.

"Don't mind them, William. They don't know wha-"

"The discussion room," Now I cut him off for the first time today, and his eyes widened slightly. _I said I'd get my revenge you bugger. This is my first win of the day!_ "Which discussion room is ours?"

The sickening professional smile overtakes his features again, as he leads me down a side path from the lounge of condemnation.

The entire police station was impressively furnished in its facilities. Ever since the crossing, not a single expense had been spared on law enforcement, and officers thus always worked with the most top-of-the-line equipment. Something that made procedures such as these a lot less tedious than they had been in earlier years.

Entering the discussion room, the ambient light immediately became darker, and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. Strangely, it made me more comfortable. Oh, we already have company. Inside the room were two individuals, who were seemingly waiting for us; occupying two seats at the table out of the four which were available. The woman, officer Stephens, was a young ambitious police officer who had risen quickly in the ranks. The man was formally dressed — _a prosecutor, I would wager, given his presence here_.

I took a step ahead of David into the room, and the man quickly raised himself from his seat while the woman paled ever so slightly.

"Good of you to come, gentlemen. I am Robert Vale... I'll be prosecuting this case." He smiled a handsome professional smile and put forward his right hand to shake mine. I felt my soul shrink back inside myself at his open and friendly tone, almost backing away. _Does my subconscious somehow already judge this rando as my better? Et Tu, Mind?_

I steeled myself and shook his hand, looking into his eyes as I felt my line of vision become increasingly attracted to the carpet beneath my feet. _This is not fair! Gravity, release my pupils at once!_

"Detective William Annacker," I rasped out, as I fought another small internal war while identifying myself to the man before me. The lady behind him looked even more mortified than before. Were they already well-acquainted? Once I managed to politely wrestle my hand back, I pointed to the wide-eyed sergeant behind me.

"This is detective sergeant David Grace." David pouted ever so slightly as I said this. He probably wanted to introduce himself to a fellow sparkle-boy-extraordinaire. _I win again!_

I looked over the only female in the room, who kept so close to the corner, I could have mistaken her for a stand-in of yours truly. Luckily for me, I already knew her name.

"Officer Stephens," I called out to her. She surprised me by reclining even further into the room. _Was it not somewhat offensive I would be surprisingly impressed. This officer has great potential as a stowaway._

Seeing no other option, I kept quiet, furrowed my eyebrows slightly, and took my seat diagonally across from where she positioned herself. "You were the first officer on-site, correct?" I asked in as friendly a voice as I could muster on a working Sunday. She nodded softly and took her seat back at the table, still wearily glancing at me.

"Well, it seems nothing is barring us from getting started."

Deciding to grab the bull by the horns, I confronted the original shiny boy who sat opposite to me, closest to the door. "What have we got concerning suspects so far, Mr. Vale?" I asked, hearing my voice echoing slightly in the small dim room as a shiver ran up my spine. The walls were narrow but extended a fair bit into the building. This allowed for several of these rooms to be stacked adjacently, maximizing capacity. You would almost be forgiven for thinking our police station was a corporation.

The prosecutor before me smiled lightly, "It is a bit of a headache I am afraid..." _I have heard that one before._ "I apologize for the inconvenience, and on a Sunday no less."

Mr. Prosecutor hefted a large binder full of profiles and potential suspects. It landed with a loud thud on the table before me, and I massaged my forehead softly. _Let's do this then._

Letting out a deep breath, I opened the binder and flipped through its pages. The heft was not for nothing — this was very comprehensive. _On any other day, I would complement the diligence that went into this..._

I quickly flipped to the section listing relatives to inform myself briefly on his family's situation. It seemed his mother was quite the activist, joining various programmes fighting drug-use among the youth, though his father did not seem nearly as engaged. Not exactly unusual, but it caught my curiosity; especially since it was the only charity case his mother had ever taken upon herself. I looked carefully at the picture of the victim's mother from her face to her hair to her clothes... Something here wasn't adding up.

"You spoke to the victim's mother?" I asked Officer Stephens.

"Yes, she was at the scene of the crime when the body was first discovered after all; poor soul."

"Did you notice anything about her clothing?" I continued, causing her eyes narrow as she looked at me oddly.

"Well, it looked fairly typical for something people from the Upper Ward would wear, except I suppose it had signs of being repaired by hand." _The poor soul... wearing hand-mended clothes on a holiday..._

I turned over to the page listing information on the victim's girlfriend, noting photographs of the girl that had been acquired.

"The victim's girlfriend is among the suspects?" I asked, somewhat perplexed.

"She did not have an alibi for the estimated time of death." The prosecutor commented offhandedly.

"Well, she wasn't the one who committed the crime, but we might want to bring her in for an interview regardless..."

"What makes you say that?" His eyes looked on with interest.

"The Upper Ward is dead-quiet at night, so disposing of the body somewhere else would be a simple feat. Not to mention, his girlfriend would have developed habits of closing the door behind herself — which was what alerted his parents and caused them to enter the house in the first place." My eye was caught by a photograph taken after her boyfriend's death. _They were even planning to get engaged soon... The person responsible for this binder was certainly generous with their labels..._

The prosecutor nodded softly. "That makes sense. I'll look forward to working with you gentlemen for the coming week."

_Don't get too ahead of yourself._

"I don't think so," I began, a confused expression blooming on the prosecutor's features. "I believe we can solve this case today."

The prosecutor looked dumbstruck, and an ugly smile threatened to overtake my features. _David is bound to have the coroner's report memories by now,_ I thought to myself as I turned to him.

"David, would you remind me when was the estimated time-of-death?"

"Between 11 PM and 3 AM Friday night, I believe."

"Very well, please take a small detour to see our dear coroner. Ask for any signs of recreational drugs showing up somewhere in the toxicology report... The final results should be a way out, but if he has an inkling, it could be useful..." I felt my pulse quicken, and a deep breath filled my lungs as an idea sprung forth; the taste on my tongue turned sweet, and I could feel my blood pressure pick up.

David looked thoughtful for a moment. "Do you believe he was involved with substance abuse?"

"Call it a gut feeling... For now, just ask the coroner downstairs," I told David, taking a small moment to calm down before raising myself from the table as well after he had left the room.

"I'll get some coffee while we wait. Do you two want anything?" I looked at them tiredly.

"I'll have a coffee, thank you." Mr. Prosecutor did not skip a beat, even if he looked slightly unnerved.

"Wait a minute; what happened to that whole 'solving the case in a day'?" Officer Stephens looked slightly agitated.

I shrugged slightly, "If this hunch is correct, we can finish this up today. If not, it might take some more work..." I trailed off, shuddering as the words left my mouth. It took the young police officer a bit of time to recover.

"Juice for me then..." Officer Stephens looked hesitant. "Just don't put anything in it okay?"

"..."

_Oi, just what sort of person do you think I am, woman? I am supposed to be a law-enforcer, not a lawbreaker..._

"... I'll be careful..."

Closing the door behind me, I took a deep breath. _This day is getting on my nerves._

I slowly walked back through the corridors towards the lounge which held all the snacks and beverages. I put on three cups of coffee – I wouldn't want David to feel left out, poor soul.

After stretching my body for a bit as the coffee brewed, I grabbed a can of grape and berry juice from the small fridge which held an assortment of cool beverages and snacks. _Officer Stephens has the air of someone who needs something sweet right now. Oh, they even have chilled coffee... perhaps I should try it sometime..._

I found an arrangement of glass cups separated in plastic wrappings, and ripped the wrappings open to get one of each of us. A tray next to the coffee machine was very useful when I had to make my way back to the discussion room. Inside, I found David already waiting with a wide grin on his face.

"You were right, William! The coroner strongly suspects recent drug-use, perhaps cocaine, though he says it will take a while for confirmation as you said..." David trailed off a bit at the end, likely a bit dismayed at the lack of confirmation, even if that was to be expected. Nevertheless, a smile creeps its way onto my features.

"This makes things a lot easier," I muttered as I set down the tray on the table, and the participants in the room began to take part in them. I took a slow sip of my black coffee, noting its severe bitterness as David and Mr. Prosecutor began pouring milk into theirs.

I looked at Officer Stephens, who was eyeing her juice suspiciously for some reason. _Ah, if only I could do everything by myself._ "The juice will get warm if you keep up that intense of a gaze..." She looked slightly startled, but recovered and tucked into her pack of juice, looking delightedly surprised.

"By the way, what came of the forensic evidence on the scene?" I asked.

"Hmm," she looked thoughtful for a moment. "I believe some foreign fingerprints were left on the knife's handle, and a few boot prints on the floorboards matching none of the shoes belonging to either the victim or his parents."

I hummed softly, "And none of these could be linked to any suspect?"

"There were, unfortunately, no matches to the fingerprints or boot prints to be found when compared to our samples and records."

I sighed softly; taking a small sip, I felt the warm dark liquid of my recently obtained coffee trickled down my throat and mended my spirit from its many battles today. I trailed my finger over the pages, as I flipped through the book. _I need to be in good condition for this next part or it might all blow up in my face... I have to stick my neck out and take a gamble. Otherwise, this case might stall as we need to look through every witness testimony._ I ended my browsing on the suspect list and pointed to a young man's picture on the page. _I might as well give it a try._

"I'd like to bring this young man in for questioning."

****— // —** **

I gathered two glass cups as I stood outside the interview room. The man inside awaited me, just as I awaited meeting him.

"Make sure to record this, all right?" I said to David before as he is heading into the observation room that allowed visibility into the interrogation room through the one-way mirror.

"Of course, William." I nodded at him, and he nodded back at me.

 _Well, no sense in waiting anymore._ I calmly entered the room, making no eye-contact as I closed the door behind me, and disposed of my dark cloak and my weapons by the cabinet closest to the door.

Most interrogations are decided by the introduction, and right now I wanted the man before me to see me as the least threatening I could. I closed my eyes half-way to soften my glare and evened out my lips into the courteous professional smile I despised the most.

I turned around and met his gaze for the first time. His face still mimicked the picture taken of him perfectly. Sunken eyes, hollowed out cheeks, a nest of dark hair atop a pale face. His frame was slim, and without a jacket or coat, openly revealing that his body had clearly seen better days despite his young age. Wearing was a brown linen sweater and some grey worn-out pants, that I assumed primarily existed to protect from the cold, he definitely didn't give off the impression of someone who frequented the parties in the Upper Ward. He looked positively anxious as he glanced warily around the room. _I might have to be careful with this one._

I sat down slowly at the table in front of him, the friendly smile still resting on my features. I looked him in the eyes, "Sorry for calling you in so suddenly, and on a Sunday at that." I smiled at him softly. The apology was intended to make him more cooperative. By placing myself below him, it was harder for his mind to justify too much carefulness, even if he knew how bad interrogations could get.

"N-No, it's okay." He replied weakly.

"I just want to start off by saying that I am Detective William Annacker. Since I am a detective, I am here to solve crimes and mysteries happening around Claustershire. This also means I'll be asking you a few questions today. You have probably heard a lot about the more 'rough' interrogations," I picked my words carefully, "I just want you to know that I believe in treating everyone with good care, and then we can all help each other come to a good result, all right?"

He looked down at his hands for a few moments, and I noticed him taking a deep breath. "Yeah... that's fine I suppose..."

"So," I indicated the questioning was about to begin, and I saw him straighten in his seat. "Would you mind telling me your name to start off with?"

"Tom Baker," he replied.

"Mr. Tom Baker then?" I parroted the words back at him. Repeating what he said slowed down the conversation, giving him a feeling of greater control over where the conversation was going. And it also gave me more time to think. "And where do you work out of?"

"I work at home as an editor."

"Oh, I see. Is it because you feel uncomfortable in social situations?" I see his mouth fall open slightly.

"Y-Yeah," he stuttered. "I grew up in an orphanage... S-So such things are a bit difficult sometimes," _In other words, he really sucks at dealing with people. People who are bad at something are likely to downplay it in front of people they don't know to appear less insecure. The source is me._

I smile at him sadly. _This is not the time to get sentimental._ "I understand," I say, seeing the doubt blossom in his features. _There is no need to get defensive, struggling is not a competition._ "I grew up on the orphanage in the Market Ward, was never really any good with people either. Probably why I had to stay there..." I looked ruefully at the cups I brought with me, feeling a painful clump settle in my throat.

A doubting, hopeful expression painted Tom Baker's features before me, "W-What was it like when you stayed there?" I looked reflective for a moment.

"It was manageable I suppose. Getting along with the older boys was not always easy," he nodded at that, "but I managed to pull through eventually. The rough culture was quite dire sometimes though... It's honestly staggering how much violence these homes have developed."

He offered me a rueful smile, letting out a long breath. "In recent times it has just gotten worse... These days, the orphanages are practically all drug dens, leading young people down the path of criminality and despair. The gangs are doing their best to recruit young, naive kids into doing something catastrophic to their lives for mere pocket change."

"We could make an inquiry into that," I pondered silently.

"I don't think that would do much," Tom scoffed slightly, "you would need an informant to catch even a few of them, and that person would inevitably end up dead behind bars. It's not like any officers believe what orphans tell them anyway..."

Tom looked rather shocked as he gasped, likely both at my admission and his own openness just before.

"You're probably right," It was my turn to smile ruefully. I could see him swallow thickly.

"Need a drink?"

"Oh, yes please," It seemed he was back to mumbling, but he was not as closed off as before.

I brought out the two stacked cups I had brought in with me. I grabbed the lip of the innermost cup and carried it at the lip to his side of the table, leaving the other glass remaining on my own half. I proceeded to pour each of us a bit of water and gestured for him to have his fill.

Taking a sip from my own cup, I witnessed him wrap his hands carefully around the centre of the cup to have his fill as well.

"But, unfortunately, this was never intended as social call," I examined his eyes, seeing him swallow deeply as my voice took on a more serious note. "As you presumably know by now, we are investigating Peter Mason's murder... So, please enlighten me; how did you come to know of him?"

Tom took a deep breath in front of me. "W-We became friends in high school," He said softly reclining farther back in his seat as he turned slightly away from me. "He was one of the sole friends I had during that time... along with Eva."

"Eva Merry, the victim's girlfriend?"

He cast his eyes down unto the table's cold white surface, "Yes," his voice took on a melancholic tone which was somehow exactly what I was expecting.

"Would you say the three of you were close?"

"Y-Yeah, we used to be at least..." He trailed off by the end, poorly concealed hurt shining in his eyes.

"I am sorry for your loss," I said softly.

"It's okay..." He muttered. By his sorry state, it clearly wasn't.

"It appears from our witness testimonies that you were at the party last Friday, correct?"

"Y-Yeah, it had been a while since last we saw each other. I wouldn't normally go to all the parties those two attended... but Peter persuaded me to come this time..."

"Do you have any knowledge of what happened to Peter after the party as over?" He gulped, and shook his head — slight at first, and then more forcefully.

"How about Eva Merry?" A slight look of distress crosses his features.

"What? Eva? Did anything happen to her?" He asks rapid-fire questions, almost panicking.

I raise one of my eyebrows, looking at him slightly incredulously. "Well, her boyfriend, and soon to be fiancé, murdered in his own home..." I did not miss how his eyes lost their panic and his shoulders sunk back down.

"O-Of course... No, when I left the party, both Eva and Peter were still at the party."

"I understand, and what did you do after the party was over?"

"I stayed home and went to sleep," He answered clearly.

"Can anyone vouch for you?"

"N-No, unfortunately not, I prefer to spend my nights in solitude. It's calmer that way..."

I sighed out loud, looking purposefully dejected at the table. "Look, I'll be honest with you here... this case is looking to be a real pain. It might even take weeks for us to get anywhere close to the truth. And I'll be honest, I don't want to drag you in here every time we discover a new piece of evidence," I subconsciously looked briefly at his cup.

" _So_ ," I emphasized this conjunction to get the right impact, "what evidence would you be willing to offer so that we may strike you off the list?"

He almost looked choked for a second, as if he'd never expected this question, which just worked out in my favour. Most people were unaware of recent developments in forensic evidence and the implications they carried with them.

"I, uh, I am not sure... What sort of evidence would that be?"

"Oh, you know, fingerprints would be a great help." I gestured softly, looking down at his feet, "Boot prints and a look at your wardrobe might help out too."

A small look of realization crossed his features, and he almost began muttering at the floor. "Ah, I, I think I don't really have time for that right now... I-I mean it is getting really late, and it is a Sunday, and I do have some work I need to do... and I don't want to waste any more of the police's time. Can't you take my word that I was never there?"

I fought hard the sigh that attempted to escape my mouth at this point. By how quickly the kid picked up on the significance of my question, it is obvious he already knew how bad this looked.

"Is there anything you could tell me that might further our inquiries then? I mean, you must surely know how awful this looks, right?" I asked.

For a second, he looked slightly relieved. "I-I think he was getting into drugs..." he said softly.

_Bingo._

"Drugs? As in consuming them?" I asked, to which he nodded.

"Y-You know how dangerous that trade is," he looked at me with expectant eyes, and I nodded softly. "I-It might be a good place to start looking for who is responsible..."

I looked unimpressed at the stuttering man before me, and felt my voice deepen in my throat.

"Why I believe that is exactly what I am doing right now," Tom Baker visibly gulped before me as his eyes widened.

"W-What do you mean?"

"You saw them, didn't you? Eva Merry and Peter Mason... he got her hooked on the stuff as well, didn't he?" I saw him struggle to swallow my words as he shrank back into his seat. Nevertheless, he nodded reluctantly.

"He was selling, wasn't he? He was selling, and then got his own girlfriend hooked up on the stuff." Tom's eyes practically bulged out of his skull.

I saw his fist clench near his drained cup of water, "H-How did you know?"

"Was that why you killed him?" My voice was demanding; I was asking the questions now. I wove the narrative to which he could only respond, which means he will be stuck on the back foot. This tone of voice was a far cry from what I employed when I first started this interview, but now I had no more use for pleasantries.

"W-What are you talking about? I haven't done anything!"

"Look, I understand. I've looked at the pictures back from when you attended high-school. You were in love with Eva, weren't you?" He did not seem intent on answering that question.

I chuckled softly, "I mean, how couldn't you? You only had two people in the world who acknowledged your existence, and one of them just happened to be so beautiful... it must also have been a blow to you when they got together." Tom winced before me in his seat, and I knew I had struck a nerve. _Now to twist the knife._

"But even that wasn't enough, was it? No, he had to lure her on into his dirty business. You can even see the toll the drugs have taken on her body. How old is she again? Twenty?"

His shuddering breath filled the silence of the room as I gazed towards the young man. His sad eyes, his red ears, his bobbing throat. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, avoiding my gaze the whole time. The sounds of his chair being pushed from the table filled my ears as he hastily got up.

"I'd like to go home now please," He said, his voice almost strangled in his throat. I slowly sat at the table, nodding my head. Pulling out a small plastic bag, I carefully put his glass cup into the thin wrapping.

"Are you sure you don't want to offer us any evidence or fingerprints?" I asked.

"I told you. I don't have time for something that rigorous..."

A sad smile slipped unto my features as I looked him in the eye, "Even if I told you I already have them?"

I shook the plastic bag containing the glass before his face; a crystal-clear set of fingerprints polluting the glass, illuminated by the cold lights above us. His mouth fell open in shock, now realizing what my plan was all along.

I placed my left hand at my chin. "I wonder how these will match up to the bloody fingerprints on the handle of the murder weapon..." I tilted my head sideways in imitation of Sophia, "What do you think, Tom?"

The young man's wide eyes looked betrayed. "I... I thought you understood..."

"I understand enough."

"You lied to me..."

My eyes hardened and my voice turned frozen, "As did you. Look, with everything on tape and the evidence on hand, even the most forgiving of juries will have little trouble putting you away for a long time."

Tom looked conflicted, his throat struggling to swallow through the guilt pulsing through his body, as he slowly sat back down.

"As I see it there are two options. Option one: You keep quiet, I throw you into solitary confinement, and I bring this down to the lab to get tested. You will be tried, found guilty, and earn your sentence after a long, drawn-out process."

"It's either that... or option two: You admit your guilt. You spare me the need of pursuing further evidence in this case. The trial will be over quickly, and you can begin serving your time immediately. Hell, you might even get a reduced sentence for cooperating with the police..." I let the notion hang in the air between us for a few moments.

With every interrogation, there is a breaking point. A point at which almost any criminal would confess. If you make it appealing enough for the other person, they would always admit their guilt. That's why many confessions are not achieved through sheer evidence, but also through bargains. Every individual wants to maximize their own utility in life; utility they gain through fulfilling the things they want in life. And so, an important part of drawing out a confession is appealing to what the criminal wants. Or at least to make it the most appealing option compared to what the criminal wants.

By now, I had a pretty clear mental image of Tom Baker — enough that I could make decent wagers on the things that could spur the man into action, the things which could make him tick. I needed to make him spill, not only for his own sake but the Police Department's sake as well. If I failed in convicting this man in a timely manner, the Chief could quickly end up in a heap of trouble. And so, I will use everything I have learned during the short 20 minutes that made up our conversation so far. The timing was everything right now, as I am sure the small timer to my right could attest to. The ticking of the clock was all that permeated the thick tension-filled air between us. An air I needed to slice through as cleanly a possible.

I leaned in across the table, invading his personal space as I caught his eyes. By this range I could see the sweat that had gathered above his eyebrows, his eyes blinking in tune with the timer's rhythm. He almost looked scared as I closed in on him, his breathing accelerating even further.

I lowered my voice to nought but a whisper, and left an idea hanging in the air next to his ears. An idea I believed was what he wished for more than anything right now. It was what led him to this situation, and it should also serve to push him beyond this point.

_"I could even help out Eva before it is too late for her."_

The idea planted itself in his mind rapidly, as fell back into my seat. This was a man who gave up everything; well aware that he was doing so, because of his feelings. Feelings so strong it obliterated any form of restraint or common sense, keeping back the beast that dwells within all people. In this sense, people were just like the animals we slaughtered for our own food. Any incentive that is strong enough will drive us to any sort of action; it is as sure of a thing as day eventually turning into night.

I had cornered this man quicker than he could ever anticipate. He was already well aware that he had lost. Through my judgment, he was caught, condemned and convicted. But I offered him an alternative. Even if he would never be a saint, he could be a sacrifice. The last rite he could offer others before being locked away. In a sacrifice, there is always some semblance of redemption to be found.

 _He was an orphan who was pushed to do what he deemed necessary to save the one he cared for... A true romantic; there is no way he could refuse._ I almost scoffed at the thought.

And so, as I expected, he spilt.

****— // —** **

Everything was over and done with fifteen minutes after I checked the monotonously ticking clock inside the interrogation room. Closing the door behind me, I went to the opposite side of the hallway and slowly slid down the wall until I reach the floor. I messed up my hair a bit with my hands while waiting for the door to the observation room to open.

As always, David was the first to escape the confines of the small room, a bright smile painted across his features. Next was Mr. Prosecutor and then officer Stephens who came trailing out by the very end.

"Excellent work as always William!" David exclaimed, clapping me on the shoulder. David and I were of a similar age, even if he was actually the senior in the department. Something David seemingly paid little mind to, since he never made an issue of me being above him in the pecking order.

Looks like Mr. Prosecutor was already packing up, having his coat in hand and what looked like live transcripts from the meeting. _The shiny boy wasn't all appearances after all._

"I must admit I did not expect you to show results this quickly. I always do appreciate when a problem is handled expediently — good work!" His smile could outshine the sun.

_Is this his way of saying he's glad to be rid of me?_

I gave him an awkward smile, "I just got lucky."

"Is that so? Then I appreciate your luck." And with those words, he left me, David and officer Stephens in the corridor.

"You tricked him..." Officer Stephens said softly. "You planned to put him behind bars before he even entered the interview room..."

"I did what I had to do..." I muttered softly. "Besides, we had to move on. I get the feeling this only the start of something even greater."

Officer Stephens quickly skittered away to prepare for Tom Baker's arrest and thus left me and David alone in the tight corridor. I looked at him somewhat tiredly.

"I suppose we should report this to the Chief?" David asked.

"Indeed, and we should probably get moving. Peter Mason was surely not alone in this drug business."

What officer Stephens had said was true. I laid out a rope and watched solemnly as he unconsciously used it to tie a nose around his own neck. Tom Baker has probably realized that now as well, or perhaps he had even realized it inside the interview room. I did nothing short of everything I could to lead him to this dead end, each word smelling sweet yet tasting of poison — he was merely too naive to notice it. I knew exactly where I was going from the very start, and I manipulated him at every turn to get there. And even if everyone else should pay a blind eye to this; I will not. I had made my judgment before I even entered that interview room, and I was perfectly aware of it.

In the same sense that Tom Baker had made Peter Mason his victim, I made Tom Baker mine. For though he was guilty, none of this contained any shred of fairness or integrity. I knew this, yet I made my choice to proceed regardless. And so, I have become his judge, jury and executioner; led onwards by my own indifference and the will of others to see it so. And that fact would always stick in my mind, even if it faded away in everyone else's. A fitting weight, for me to carry, as a counterbalance to my own transgressions.


	4. Iron Will, Steel Trap — Part I

* * *

**2.1**

* * *

"So the culprit has already been apprehended, and even confessed to the crime?" I hear the Chief's voice mumble softly in the rather cramped, but still neat office.

The traditional curtains at the end of the office, wooden panels at the sides, and glass front seemed to do an admirable job at concealing the echo his hefty voice would otherwise produce. _I wouldn't expect anything less from the Chief. The man has always been fond of tradition._

A small, well-hidden smile spread itself subtly on the chief's face. The sunset illuminated the room in warm golden colours, as the world's celestial mother slowly descended below the horizon, melancholically bidding the long day a sweet farewell.

_Despite the sun's warm colours bearing down upon us, it is quite chilly in here..._

"I got lucky," I sighed softly, half expecting to see my exhalation mist in front of my face. It didn't.

"Nonsense," David protested, "You practically knew Tom Baker was the culprit since we entered the interview room."

I side-eyed David quietly, as the Chief interrupted an anticipated conflict with a cold, cutting tone. "What matters the most is that the culprit was caught," _as warm as the old man could be, he knows when to be harsh. A man of velvet-clad steel. There was little end to the sort of respect he could command._

"That is true," David muttered, "but how did you know Tom Baker was the man responsible? Let alone the fact that illegal substances were involved?" I saw the Chief's eyes glance up, gazing at me expectingly. I began to feel like I was still an inexperienced and anxious student, waiting agonizingly at the precipice another exam, as my heartbeat increased slightly.

"First, we have our victim. He was already living in a high-end household, despite his extremely young age. His mother's mended, yet fashionable clothing told me that the family did not have assets to afford such luxuries. So either he hit a jackpot, which would be represented in his records, or he sold illegal substances. With the recent armament of the public, the market for illegal weapons is very small, especially in Claustershire."

David hummed, seemingly satisfied with that part of the explanation. "The parents must have removed the substances from his residence after finding him then," I nodded silently. "But how did you figure out that he was consuming them? Moreover, how does any of this link to our culprit?"

"Probability," I said, wobbling a bit on the balls of my feet. "By all accounts, our victim was quite a normal individual, concerned with partying and enjoying life. If you have easy access, you are more likely to indulge yourself. That's why I had you ask the coroner first. In essence, it was merely a qualified guess. If he consumes illegal substances, it is not unreasonable to think that the people involved with him might join in."

"As to Tom Baker... He was alone in the world, with only two people at his side. One of them is a very attractive young woman. Two people he grew attached to, but who gradually left him as his path diverged from theirs. I was more than aware of the state of the orphanage before I entered the interview room, so I assumed he would respond very negatively to the primary force which drove them apart... especially if he only discovered it long after his social isolation had worsened."

"In the end," I continued, "I had more than enough information and experience to make an approximate evaluation of his mental state. The resignation and general lack of an emotional reaction to hearing about one of his closest friends' death also played a significant role."

"Experience..." David muttered softly before smiling. "You are one terrifying detective, William." The gentle expression on his face blended with the golden scenery cast upon the rustic office. _Terrifying, huh..._ From below my neck, I heard the small, incessant ticking of a certain rustic mechanical contraption. A pang of melancholy and regret travelled from the cold bronze patina enriching the metal's surface, to the soft contents of my chest beneath it before being snuffed out.

I looked slightly to the side, suddenly finding it harder to maintain eye-contact as the colours spread out on the room's furnishings slowly began to fade to grey; the ever-incessant night creeping ever closer. The pocket watch around my neck once again drawing my attention to its presence beneath the layers of my uniform. A _t least you will keep me notified of when the darkness keeps closer,_ I smiled lightly to myself _._

"We should look further into this case," I pitched to the Chief, David quietly giving his assent at my side. "I doubt our victim was in this alone. The fact that the inventory of illegal substances was nowhere to be found at the residence should be more than enough merit launching an investigation."

"I'll see what I can do," The Chief promised, nodding slowly. "Regardless, I am sure your report on the matter will be an interesting read." He smiled as he laid a hand on my shoulder, and I involuntarily straightened up where I stood.

_Dear Lord no, the report._

**— // —**

"You saved us from a real pinch there, William. Well done; you may go home and rest easy now." _Those must have been some aggressive aristocrats._ Faint protests which had echoed soundlessly within me since the start of this case were laid to rest as he dismissed us with care.

"I am still rather surprised, William," David told me, as we descended into the multi-storied building using the gear-driven lift towards the back entrance of the police station. "I did boast about how you would solve the problem with ease, but I didn't expect the matter to be cleared up in one day."

"Neither did I." I shrugged lightly, hearing the hissing and screeching of the steam and gears which powered the brass cage begin to slow down. "Sometimes these things are more luck than skill."

"That's quite the luck then," David commented as the lift stopped its incessant screeching as it came to a stop at the bottom floor. "I don't think any detective on the station in our age range has their name on as many solved cases as you do."

The back entrance consisted of a large parking basement which resided at the lowest level of the building. This large parking space was usually used for stored service vehicles, but individual officers and detectives could also be allotted space for personal vehicles in the large field of rectangular cubicles. Three individual lifts that could carry one's vehicle between the road and parking basement had been implemented to make the logistics of moving automobiles more than twenty meters underground a possibility. The police station was located in the Upper Ward after all, so space came at a high premium.

The small parking space in the front existed therefore primarily as a temporary parking space for deployments and arrivals to and from the station, hence the reason why vehicles that would stick around throughout the day would be parked in the cellar. In a crowded city that grew evermore crowded every day, technology was a vital asset in structuring the environment to fit human needs; or in other words, to impose the will of humans upon the world in an ever-increasing fashion.

I shook these thoughts from my mind as I got seated in the passenger side of David's glittering automobile. The engine of the mechanical wonder made its complaints known as he enthusiastically turned the key in the ignition before sputtering to life. The soothing roar of the engine, and the gentle rocking of the car as it descended into the city after being hoisted unto the road, made the rather tedious journey on foot pass me by very swiftly. 

Outside the parking basement, dark and heavy clouds had drifted over the capital, their precipitation beginning to pelt the car's smooth surface causing light resounding ticks to join the reverberating sounds filling the car's interior. 

David had continued talking to me, though I had admittedly paid it little mind; my mouth functioning autonomously as I reflected on the undesirably eventful Sunday I had been roped into. 

"I had no idea you were an orphan though... let alone one from the same nursery as our culprit," David changed the subject, his voice subtle with caution. Throughout the journey, I had paid little mind to David's chatter, but for some reason, this remark drew my attention to the present.

"I wasn't," I admitted quietly, stretching out my limbs vertically in the cramped inclosure. "I just happened to have an informant who lives there."

"I-... I see." 

The revelation left David's mouth rounded out like a trumpet, and I could tell he lost a bit of his composure before he shook his head and focused his attention on the road.

"Do you think you'll get a car for yourself anytime soon, William?"

"Uh, no I don't believe so. I have made no such plans."

"Why not?" He asked curiously, a smile returning to his features. "I promise you won't regret it! Transportation around the city becomes a breeze by comparison. Rainfall also grows a lot less troubling," David gestured to his car's windshield. A _'rainshield'_ _might have been more apt under these circumstances,_ I thought to myself as the car slowed down as we entered unto the smaller roads within the city.

I looked around the car's interior, noticing its tidy and feature-rich interior. I looked back towards the road, seeing my reflection glancing back at me through the passenger-side wing mirror. _I would openly admit it fits him._ _As for me though..._

"I think I'll pass for now," I told him honestly, seeing the car approach the street David would usually drop me off at. "Maintaining such a marvelous monstrosity is quite a task in and of itself."

The car came to a stop at the sidewalk, and I exited the car efficiently as David glanced worryingly at me. Drawing the large hood of my half-cloak over my head, I looked back at him preparing to send him off.

"And besides," I continued, smiling oddly to myself, "I've always got this old cloak of mine around to protect me from the rain."

It was only now I noticed the frigid winds assaulting me from all sides as I stood outside the cabin. I drew the half-cloak closer to my body, trying to keep the warmth around me as best I could.

"Are you sure this is all right?" David asked hesitantly as a heavy gust of wind blew a payload of cold flying droplets at my face. _The rain is picking up now_. Glancing down at my feet, I could see a great disorderly formation of liquid trickle down the dramatic piece of clothing, reaching just above my knees, before falling in front of my feet. 

"I'll be fine." I moved to close the door to the cabin, faintly hearing David mutter some unintelligible words under his breath before the sound of the door smacking shut reached my ears.

David drove straight ahead, further into the city towards the Ocean Ward, presumably towards his place of residence. I took a left turn unto a smaller pedestrian street which ran parallel to the larger road David's car continued onward. The pedestrian street connected into the Merchant's Ward; a decently presentable middle-class neighbourhood, offering a variety of shops, manageable rent, and the second-highest population density among the wards of the city. A shining hub of economic activity; it was the first choice for most shoppers looking for quantity and quality.

Residing in extension to the Ocean Ward through the canals penetrating deep into the city, naturally helped tremendously with the import of goods. The second-place in terms of population density was nothing in comparison front runner though. I shuddered a bit in my brisk pace forward, this time not solely due to the rain. The frontrunner, the Shanty Ward, was truly a nightmare to behold, almost collapsing in on itself from all desperation and poverty compacted into ever-shrinking cubicles.

The rough cobblestones beneath my feet began to flatten, as I followed the pedestrian street down its twisting path. On Sundays, most establishments in Claustershire would be closed, observing the weekly rest day, apart from a select few which provided service to Aurelians in need. 

Rainsoaked gravel began to crunch underneath my boots, and faint sounds of thunder erupted above me, as I neared a small familiar pub called 'The Purple Siren'. The Purple Siren was one of these establishments, permitted to stay open as they also offered lodgings, a service that necessitated the circumvention of the rest day law.

By now night had fallen completely like a blanket over the city, and the rain continued falling unabated of the increasing chill of the early spring evening. A few lights around the city gave the clouds a soft golden glow as they drifted further in from the sea. Outside the establishment, gentle golden lights were also spilling out into the cold wet street from the windows; small panes which also allowed the echoes of the lively conversations happening inside to carry through to the outside. 

A small bell rang above the rustic wooden door as I opened it, the sound ringing out through the space of the pub. The sound broke off a small collection of conversations and a corresponding multitude of glances were cast towards the entrance. I was only the object of attention for a scant few seconds before the patrons' alcohol and company provided for a more intriguing distraction than my appearance.

"Oh, hi there William! I didn't expect to see you today." The young barmaid smiled at me, as she ducked below one of the brown oaken ceiling beams, and turned back, ducking below one of the brown oaken ceiling beams to turn around by the corner of the bar and approach me at the entrance.

"Evening Laura." I greeted her back, drawing my hood down to rest at my shoulders once more "How is the bar doing tonight?"

She gave me a confident smile. "It's doing great! Look at all the patrons we have tonight! Even if I somehow doubt this was the only reason you checked in on us this evening." Her confident smile turned into a slight pout.

"Guilty as charged," I lazily put my hands up in surrender. "I had some work to take care of today. It couldn't wait." A few vestigial drops of rain gathered and fell on the back of my exposed hands as the skies erupted in a loud crash of thunder, causing a slight shiver to run down my spine.

"Dear God, look at the weather outside. Can I help you with your cloak?" She offered generously.

I pointed to the pin on the string that tied the two sides of the half-cloak together. "I am afraid not. Thanks for the offer though."

"Oh, right..." She scrambled slightly hesitating at what she should do. "L- Let me get you something to warm you up then at least..."

"A good cup of coffee would do very nicely, thank you."

The slight creaking of my customary bench welcomed me back in the corner of the establishment, as I waited the short time before Laura returned with my order. From my seat in the rightmost corner in the front of the establishment, I had an easy view of the other patrons in the pub. I averted my eyes to the outside, as I noticed two young men still staring at me since I came into the establishment.

Looking outside through the windows behind me, the rain seemed to come down even more heavily than before. _The gutters won't be pretty by tomorrow morning,_ I thought as I saw a small pack of stray dogs struggling outside. 

A spike of nervousness shot through me as I saw a dark figure across the street staring at me, the skies turning bright in another eruption of lightning. A drop of sweat trickled down my back, and my fingers reflexively tightened around the firearm below my cloak. I noted the haggard clothing, the long tufts of drenched hair clinging to the person's face like a thick wad of wet hay. A series of lightning bolts blinded my eyes, causing me to tear my eyes away from the person to look briefly at the clock on the wall. Casting my eyes back towards the street, I saw... nothing... Nothing but the heavy gusts of wind blasting torrents of rain towards the window. _What in all the godforsaken hells was that?_

A heavy drop of sweat travelled agonizingly slowly from my forehead to my brow as I awaited another eruption of lightning.

A loud thud from behind me almost caused me to jump in my seat. I whirled around on my bench glancing into a lightly smiling barmaid and a warm ceramic cup filled with coffee. I swallowed quickly, suddenly noticing my rapid heart rate as my right hand left my firearm.

"Here you are! One good cup of coffee on the house!"

"I- a-..." I fumbled with my words, stuttering as I was short of breath. "I can't do that, you know." I took a deep breath. _All right, good. We have functioning lungs once more. If you keep this up, we might even end up as a fully functional human,_ I mused. _Heh, as if that would ever happen._

"Are you all right, William?" Laura asked, likely noticing my flustered state.

I shook my head a bit for good measure, taking a small sip of the coffee and delighting at the taste of the warm liquid filling my mouth and bringing life to my limbs. "I'll be fine Laura. I did come here with some business though."

"Of course, I'll bring Eric right out for you. Will you be eating here as well?" 

"Yeah... Thank you." I smiled at her cautiously. Despite my rather ghastly presence, the barmaid has always treated me pleasantly. And while I would usually be apathetic to others, I would not disrespect a person putting a sincere effort into doing their job.

Laura quickly scurried off behind the bar's countertop and into the kitchen. The pub was a delightfully simple establishment when it came to food. The same seven delicious dishes rotated every week, one for each day. No more, no less. You could either eat whatever the kitchen was serving on a given day, or you could find somewhere else to eat. Today was a Sunday, which meant I was in for a marinated sirloin steak, with baked potatoes and sauce.

I warmed my hands on the cup, bringing the ceramic container to lips to take another sip as the sky flashed behind me. I looked up to see one of the two men who had been eying me earlier had started walking towards my secluded spot in the corner of the restaurant. 

"She doesn't like you, you know. She just acts nice because that is her job." The man said as he took a spot beside me.

"I am aware," I said softly as I placed my mug unto the tabletop, "I am a regular customer."

The man slapped my shoulder, and I let out a slight grunt of discomfort as he let the offending appendage linger. "Heh, then you should also know we don't appreciate your type around these parts, Hunter." The derogatory enunciation of my past title did not pass me by unnoticed.

"Former Hunter." I corrected him, shrinking into my seat as I let out a tired sigh. "I'll be just be having my meal, and then I'll be on my way..." The lingering hand on my shoulder squeezed down hard. I glanced at his worn knuckles and wounded hand which squeezed at my shoulders in a vice-like grip, smelling a whiff of brine and seaweed around him after shortly sniffing the air. "Fisherman..."

A flash of annoyance flashed through large man's eyes. "Godspeed to that then."

I shrugged, as he retreated to his seat. Spotting Laura quickly walking towards me, food and Eric in tow. Eric was a young orphan and seemingly now also a kitchen aid, whom I had introduced the pub when they were looking for more hands for preparation work in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, did you run into trouble while I was gone?" Laura asked, looking concernedly between me and the great fisherman. 

"Don't worry about it. I'll just finish my business here and be off as usual."

Laura looked like she wanted to say something, but Eric's eagerness beat her to the chase.

"Mr. Detective! Mr. Detective! It's been a while! How have you been?"

"Indeed, it has been a while." I said, smiling and messing up the kid's hair, "I had quite a troubling case today, so I might have need of your special skills."

Seeing this, Laura smiled gently and left me with Eric and the food on my plate.

"You see, recently we have had some trouble with people getting their hands on drugs and selling them off. A young man from the Upper Ward called Peter Mason ended up in a lot of trouble because of this." I put a small pouch of coins on the table for Eric to see. "So I was thinking if you could help me gather some information on this matter?"

Eric's smile widened happily, "I'm all ears. What do want us looking for?"


	5. Iron Will, Steel Trap — Part II

* * *

**2.2**

* * *

The door closed softly behind me, engulfing me in the welcoming darkness and privacy of my apartment after leaving the outside forgotten behind me. My shoulders slumped slightly as I shrugged off the once-more newly soaked cloak and put it back on the coat hanger at the entrance to my humble home. Rubbing my hands together, I savored the warmth of the building as it seeped back into my skin and I felt the tension of the day slowly leave my stiff shoulders.

Tugging lightly at the pull cord light switch, the soft lights illuminating the interior of my residence switched on with a satisfying click. _Ah, the wonders of modern technology._ I moved further into the building that had slowly become my home in past years I spent living here, looking to end off a stressful day with some personal rejuvenation.

Through the end of the relatively tight entry hallway to my apartment, I entered the comparatively spacious living room. The rain drummed onward continuously on the flat glass panes to the right of the entry to the living room, distorting my reflection displayed through relatively bright inside compared with the lack of light from the outside.

Looking behind me to my bedroom, I disposed of my blade and firearm before walking back through the living room to the kitchen, where I prepared to make myself a cup of coffee. The gas stove underneath the steel kettle turned on with a click and hiss, and I began to feel the hairs on my neck start to stand on end.

The warm blue flames licked at the underside of the kettle as a shiver ran through my slowly heating body. A light shifting of cloth reached my ears from behind me, and I slowly turned around; subconsciously already knowing who it was. This sense was among all the other timeless, base instincts of mankind; reliably making us aware of when prey is before us and when we become prey in turn.

"Quite the Sunday for a human I must say."

"Quite the Sunday indeed," I concurred with her statement, the sound of the sigh escaping my lips echoing with the hiss of the stove behind me. "Would you like some coffee?"

The vampire whom I had come to know by the name Analynn glanced at me neutrally as she nodded gently but decisively; her pale red eyes long since blinded, yet somehow capable of seeing right through me all the same.

"I was watching you through your shadow... Quite the deception you played on the young man." She almost sounded impressed.

"It had to be done," I said somberly with an air of finality to my voice.

"No," Analynn disagreed, her smooth yet crooked elderly voice dominating the space in my mind as soon as she opened her mouth. "It only had to be done because of you interpreting the situation as such. This was the decision you made."

"Will you chastise me for it?"

"Deception is a useful tool in the hands of a skillful wielder. The same cannot be said for remorse."

 _There is no use in lying to her._ I shrugged slightly as she approached the counter and retrieved two cups. For some reason, I couldn't find it within me to question her capabilities despite her ineffective eyes.

"As the effects of the actions you have taken today will echo across the world and in the minds of others, likewise will they echo within you as the world proceeds to change before your eyes. From a single act, the currents of the world are set in motion; leaving no one — perhaps not even you — to recognize the ramifications of what that act truly was. That is the lesson to glean from determinism."

"Would that not make everything pointless? If everything is predetermined, there is never any reason for anyone to act, nor to hold anyone accountable." I was slightly confused at the impromptu lecture but proceeded with finishing the preparations for the brewing process regardless.

"If you wish to excuse the choices you make, or fail to make, through the notion of inevitability you are wasting both your time and mine." The fang on the left side of her mouth became visible, as the vampire before me continued to wash away the events of today with the torrents of words leaving her mouth. _She always describes things in the harshest of ways._ I let out a small breath. _This day truly has taken its toll; it might even be a record for total sighs in a single day._

"That is hardly an argument against the veracity of predestination, but I suppose I will grant you it is a rather irresponsible way to live."

The kettle started whistling into the dry air of the living room, and I quickly let it soak into the ground coffee beans. As the pleasant aroma of the beans filled the air of my kitchen, I prepared the cups for each of us. I knew her well enough to not include milk or sugar in her drink.

"That is why you must be careful in everything you do. Every small act, every push or pull you decide upon sends echoes throughout life. Even the kindest of acts from the purest of people may have more severe repercussions than they could ever anticipate." This almost sounds like some sort of reproach.

"Do you believe I've made a mistake?" I questioned her, this time being genuinely curious, as I slowly made my way to the lounging area in my living room. She sat down in front of me and took a sip from her hot drink, letting the silence linger in the open air above my table for just a moment.

"I do not believe you have committed any acts that are disadvantageous to your current position," I noticed she picked her words carefully, almost excessively so. "But I worry that your capabilities might not be sufficient for what is to come."

I looked towards the ground and let out a small breath.

"Are you aware of what is going on?"

"I am aware of what you might face in the times ahead. Suffice it to say, these next few days might prove opportune to reacquaint yourself with your old friends among the Hunters." I noticed the distaste that crept into her voice at the mention of my former occupation.

"Very well then. I will reestablish contact as soon as I am able." I wonder if the Hunters would even be willing to help me out at this point. Though, if the supernatural was to be involved as Analynn seems to suggest, then they don't have much of a choice.

"But, unfortunately, this was never intended as a social call." My eyes widened as an uncomfortable lump formed in my esophagus. So, in other words, she did not appear just to lecture or inform me of anything.

"Then might I inquire as to the true motive for this conversation?"

"There are things you must learn; now more than ever before. I would not bring this to your attention, had I not deemed it to be necessary. But you might want to brew another two cups of coffee. It's going to be a long night.”

This does not bode well. Another sigh joined the chorus of exasperation which the world had evoked within me on this accursed Sunday. Whenever you finish handling one matter, another arises to take its place.

I steeled myself silently, glancing into her unwavering blind eyes. "Roger that."

**— // —**

The world does not consist solely of the things you perceive. At each moment, countless forces are acting upon the world, changing in ways no one can ever truly predict. While this is not a foreign concept to grasp for most, what I was witnessing before me, as the night progressed further towards morning, was so blatantly puzzling that my very mind struggled to accept what I was witnessing.

There, before me, was Analynn's outstretched hand with a newly prepared cup of steaming coffee floating casually on top. A faint hiss and rumbling reached my ears as the container remained in place, even as she let her hands fall to her sides.

I reached out with a tentative hand, slowly wrapping my fingers around the ceramic container as if I was handling the most fragile of objects. I moved it around softly for a few seconds, noting the liquid still steamed as insistently as before. Letting it go from my hands, it still stayed in place, surrounded only by the cool evening air circulating the inside of my apartment.

I pinched my shoulder, reassuring my mind of my body's responsiveness before I quickly cast my eyes towards Analynn who was already glancing at me expectantly. A nauseous feeling was swirling around inside my chest, and I had a distinct feeling that something terrible had been put on display for me to see and judge as I saw fit.

"What is this?" I asked, swallowing the lump in my throat as I gestured to the cup before me.

Analynn raised her right hand calmly, and her cup hovered toward her hands eagerly like a dog returning to its master after a long holiday before settling down as her fingers wrapped around the ceramic gently.

"These," Analynn gestured to the cup, "are my expectations. It is a relic of the world you invited into your life when I became your shadow." She took a small sip.

"As such, you should be as capable of using them to influence the world as I am."

"Expectations?" I questioned, not putting much stake in eyes or ears by this point. Everyone has expectations at all times. How can her expectations or mine be any different?

"You seem to think everyone has expectations of the world, but that is not always the case. Most people have expectations of themselves, sometimes of others even. And that always influences the world around them in various ways."

I looked at her skeptically. "Just because I expect to win the lottery does not mean I will. I think that applies to the lives of everyone in Aurelia."

"Naturally." Analynn seemed to yield this point without contention. That must mean it is not pertinent to her point at all.

"Then how does this 'magic' work?"

"They are expectations. Not magic." She chided me, her voice deadly serious. "It is an ability or curse, which grants you potential; one you seem to have inherited through me. Yet it carries a heavy toll just as all expectations do."

"You mean to say it tires the person wielding it?"

"Expectations are notions you carry with you wherever you go; they are the heavy tools in your satchel, which you rely upon for any judgment you may or may not need to make. They are the ideals which you cannot seem to let go; the relationships which drag you down, but still force you to carry on; the dependencies you let yourself develop on a dearly treasured friend. They may grant you strength, but their weight is not something to underestimate."

I looked away silently, chewing my lip as I contemplated exactly what I was facing, as the walls echoed her voice which carried notions my mind already knew but would never spell out in such detail. _Expectations form dependency._ The wave of nausea pooled in further in my stomach, and a clutched hand close to my chest.

"Why would you wish for me to learn this lesson then?"

The grey eyebrows above her pale red eyes scrunched together as her first sigh of the evening echoed in the space between us.

"It is a lesson you would have to learn sooner or later; with or without my guidance. And truly learning this lesson takes a lot of unlearning of what you already know."

I looked to the bottom of my cup, deciding to consume the last vestiges of coffee I had brewed myself at her behest. Slightly relieved that my reflection was no longer glancing back at me at the bottom of the ceramic container, I shifted my eyes back towards Analynn expectantly.

"So, what should be my first step?"

"The first thing you must learn to move forward is to know when and how to give up."

The world consists of a physical reality we know next to nothing about. The only truths that are available to us, are the perceptions that arise from the things eyes allow us to see, the smells our nose permits us to detect, and the comprehensions our mind facilitates within our consciousness. Crushing your expectations of self is among the most painful things to undergo. But I was never one to place any great expectation on myself; I had always been no one in particular.

But as my cup finally began moving without me touching it, floating unsteadily through the golden rays of morning sunshine from my living room windows as my sense of self melded with the ceramic surface, I truly understood what Analynn meant.

Marveling for the umpteenth time at my own incompetence, I finally relinquished my expectations for the single light ceramic container before staggering into the bathroom on unsteady feet; the weight of my expectations almost forcing me to the ground on my way there.

The vomit my digestive tract had left in the sink was quickly washed away. I switched my attention to my face, washing away the tears from my eyes and blood from my nose, as it had gathered itself on my face throughout the night; time continuing its incessant, unrelenting pace into the future.

Throwing my head back and wiping it with a clean towel, I swiftly cut off the few grey tufts of hair that had grown into my mess dark mop, my eyes almost looking red in the mirror as I fought a war with gravity to keep myself upright. I felt the rapid beating of my heart steady ever so slightly, and the world started to stabilize as the spinning within my head began to slow down once more.

_Hello, Monday morning, I didn't wish to see you either._


	6. Iron Will, Steel Trap — Part III

* * *

2.3

* * *

The weight around my shoulders eased a bit, though everything around my body still ached. For a second, I pondered what consequences I would face, had I tried to lift my living room table, rather than the cup that presently remained situated upon it. A shiver ran through my spine, as the headache returned to my awareness even more prominently, and I decided that this experiment was off-limits for now. My eyelids almost hurt from the strain of merely keeping them open, but I still managed to stand steadily on my feet.

I looked towards the horizon through the windows on the right side of my living room from the entryway, seeing the sun slowly creeping above the tall building opposite to my own. The large glass pane gave me an excellent view of the street down below, which was already slowly bubbling to life, as the promise of trade and profit joined the damp fog floating like low clouds in the streets left in the wake of the ceaseless rainfall from yesterday.

My flat was situated in the Merchant's Ward, and the view towards the street left little doubt of that fact. By now, the first horse-drawn wagons were rolling past the first rows of open shops with sputtering cars. It made for a slightly bizarre sight, as sparkling new technology, which would undoubtedly replace the former ran alongside its predecessor.

_I haven't slept at all yet since Sophia woke me up yesterday. I should probably not turn up at the office to hang around there like a long-dead corpse... At least not today..._

Envisaging the automated telegraph on the working desk in my room behind me, I came to my decision quickly. _I will request to work from home today._ The living room table teased the edge of my peripheral vision, taking note once more of the empty cup on its surface as I made another decision; a sparkling marvel of wisdom to attend to before fiddling with any telegraphs.

_I will have another cup of coffee._

**— // —**

The coffee trickled steadily down my throat, and my visage slowly became less undead-looking in the mirror overtop my desk as Analynn's presence the previous evening echoed in my head on repeat.

_"Although it would be unfair to characterize you to be as material as an average human; in no way, are you sufficiently immaterial to approach the spiritual essence of a vampire. You live as a contradiction in terms; and you must thus use this to your advantage, lest it destroys you."_

_Her blood-red eyes shone in the moonlight behind her grey bangs, as another stream of blood slowly flowed down my nose. I projected my expectations for the cup on the table once more, feeling every fibre of my being protest my actions; my presence actively withering away, as if I was erasing my very existence._

_”You feel it now, don't you? The protests of your very being that echo within you, as you seek to dominate your own will, plunging it into the vast currents and eddies of causality that run through the fabric of reality. You feel your very being within you; its ferocity protesting within your skull, clawing out at you, pacing. This is all from your mind; your very self.” She gestured widely with her flowing robe of black and crimson cascading about her arms, framing me and the cup in front of her. "This is all you."_

A single drop of sweat flowed down the side of my face, as I contemplated how best to make my next move. The telegram was sent forth to the chief, and he should receive as soon as he enters his office. The next step should probably be a telegram to Eric; informing the orphan of my whereabouts, so that he might report back to me.

The automated telegram began spinning rapidly, as it received an incoming message. _That must be the chief._ A distinct sound of metal hands punching ink into paper filled the room that doubled as my bedroom and office, and I walked over to the right side of my desk which contained the automated telegraph. The piece of paper the message was being transcribed on slowly ran through the machine, causing me increasing doubt as to how productive this day would turn out. The message was dreadfully short and exceedingly simple, as one would expect of the chief.

_Dear William,  
Your message is received and acknowledged. You are hereby freely permitted to take the day off. I will send for Sophia to visit you as soon as she is done with school. And before you ask; no, you don't have a choice.  
Sincerely,  
Police Chief Richard Gardener._

I looked down to my half-filled cup as I scratched the back of my messy mop of hair slightly. _I wanted to work from home, not a day off..._ The large and soft down-filled bed in front of the crimson floral-patterned wallpaper on the far end of the room behind me seemed all the more enticing, as I let my toes descend into the thick black wool carpet below me.

Deciding that inactivity would get me nowhere, I pulled the transcriber towards me once more, to let Eric know of my presently expected location while finishing off the last dregs of coffee left in my mug. Leisurely deciding that the increasingly creasing white shirt and formal black trousers of yesterday had definitely done their duty as pieces of clothing, I hastily discarded it in my laundry bin, replacing each item respectively with a white linen undershirt with a pleated front, as well as a pair of black trousers of pure cotton. The pair of trousers was a dear friend, sitting tight around the waist, but allowing for easy movement through the stretch of the soft fabric.

The incandescent lamp in the centre of my room cast a clear shadow of my profile on the large pine wardrobe, which contrasted annoyingly with the crimson wallpaper on the wall beside it. Placing my hand on the place where my shadow's heart would be if it had one, I only felt the smooth sensation of the cold polished wood beneath my fingers.

_Analynn was not specific at all with what sort of things I should be preparing for by contacting to the hunters... But then, there is little knowledge on this matter that she could have which I do not. She has been living in my shadow for too long for that to be the case; and she has never been one to mince words, especially on matters of importance. Thus, her warning must likely be born of premonition; her foresight as a vampire is far superior to my own after all._

Coming to a silent decision, I retrieved the scabbard containing my blade from a narrow locker beside my wardrobe. I placed the protected blade in corner of the entry to my apartment leaning against the wall, to the right side of my locked wooden door and beneath the wall-mounted rack of hooks for outdoor clothing.

I look back through the narrow rectangular passageway into the living room, deciding that now was probably the right time to get started with the arduous process of writing Tom Baker's criminal report.

**— // —**

I almost felt like an author, slowly building each layer of complexity as the procedural documentation of how Tom Baker's guilt as the perpetrator of the crime was initially conceptualized, deliberated, and eventually confirmed through his interrogation. After a handful of hours working hours, I looked at the stack of pages with drying ink on my desk and almost felt like I should be swallowing my words as my eyes threatened to close in on themselves from sheer exhaustion. _Yeah, I doubt the average person would read this for pleasure. Criminal reports are far too boring and meticulous of creatures to serve as easy consumption after a long working day. Oh, bother; I'll get David to do the rest of the leg work._

My head was spinning once again, and I felt like I had a pair of bricks stacked and strapped to the top of my head. A loud knock on my front door shook me from my thoughts, as I flinched in surprise. Getting back on my feet, I almost stumbled from the pressure of my body’s weight being put on my buckling knees. _Analynn, what did you do to me?_

I staggered out into the corridor, using the walls of the hallway as supports to keep myself standing. Deciding to make pitstop in the bathroom, I briefly checked on my appearance in the mirror as the knocks on the door continued increased in frequency and volume.

The red hue had faded ever so slightly, but my face still rivaled the paleness of my shirt. Splashing a few drops of water in my face and wiping it with my sleeve as I kept forcing one leg in front of the other, I made my way back into the hallway. A particular loud knock echoed with my headache, forcing my eyes closed for a brief second and causing me to complain out loud.

Opening the door, my eyes winced at the brightness outside as I saw Sophia in front of me going in for another harsh knock at the door. What she didn't anticipate, was me opening the door that very moment, causing her to fall forward into the entry. In a moment of panic, she lifted her hands out in front of her, causing her to softly collide with my chest.

I frowned slightly at the flushed dark-haired girl below me before she hastily got back on her feet, looked away from me, and stuttered out a half-muted apology.

“Why did you knock? Your aunt even went out of her way to get you a key…”

“…”

“… I thought it would be a bit rude to enter when I know you are home, so…” She muttered out in a quiet voice.

“But you already do that in the mornings when you come by,” I made my point while scratching the back of my head.

She went quiet at that, just looking a bit off to the side as a light dusting of red adorned her cheeks and a few goosebumps from the cold air spread on her arms. _Wait, exposed arms?_ I took the time to look at her properly for a few seconds now that I noticed she was not wearing her customary uniform of a white shirt, accompanied by a black blazer and skirt.

As she stood in front of my front door, she was wearing a form-fitting white dress with a black cardigan on top. The sleeves had been neatly folded up, leaving her forearms and hands exposed the spring chill. _And she even brought a basket of groceries? Good kid._

“Want to come inside? It's a good-looking outfit, but not exactly warm in this weather,” Sophia's eyes widened as she took a small step back, drawing her arms close to her chest.

"You noticed?" She asked as she hesitantly stepped inside the hallway.

"Of course, I am not completely oblivious, you know."

“Yeah, right,” She pouted as she turned away from me to remove her shoes. My head tilted on its axis as I got slightly confused, before shrugging slightly and picking up the basket of provisions from where she had left them in the entryway.

“You want some tea, Sophia?” I called out to her as I put away the groceries she had brought with her. _Hmm, fish, salad, chicken stock, vegetables and a small side of bacon. There is actually a surprisingly large number of ingredients here. Just how much are we planning to cook?_

However, it seemed that she did not hear my question since no reply came echoing at me from the hallway in which I had left her. I popped my head out into the hallway, noting her absence from the hallway as well, before continuing on to the look inside the bathroom. Inside, I found her glancing worriedly into the mirror, furiously scrubbing at some point on her cheek.

“What are you doing, Sophia?” I questioned from behind her, making her give off a short squeal in surprise. I noticed she had pulled her sleeves down to her wrist to adjust from the cold outside.

It didn't look like she was about to reply, flushed as she was leaning back into the sink, so I repeated my question from earlier. “I was asking you just before if you wanted some tea, but you never replied…”

“Oh, yes please,” She nodded shyly, a slightly panicked smile adorning her face.

I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile, and left her to her business in the bathroom, as returned to the kitchen to continue the preparations for the afternoon tea. As the liquid contents of the kettle slowly came to a boil, I looked at the shadow which the light from the living room window cast upon the wall behind the gas stove, my mind still lingering on the events of the day before.

 _‘You may not speak of it to anyone,’_ The thought echoed inside my head strangely, together with a pronoun and tone of voice that I had never employed before. _Hold on for a second, this sounds almost like..._

 _’Analynn? Yes, that would be my name,’_ The voice echoed inside my head once more, almost with a hint of mirth. My eyes darted around the room rapidly as I searched for her corporeal presence, yet finding no sign of her anywhere. I shiver ran down my spine at the implications. _Telepathy?_

_'As your essence spills over from your corporeal form, many possibilities within your mind begin to open. I believe you will discover many more, once you become more in tune with your new reality.'_

A bead of sweat ran down my cheek as the kettle began whistling loudly, the sound slowly filling the kitchen with increasing volume.

“William?” I whirled around, my eyes wide and forehead slick with sweat.

"S-Sophia. Ah, do you want to get the kettle?" I swallowed heavily, trying to recover from my shock.

“Mmm,” she nodded, “are you okay, William?”

I shook my head at myself, getting back on my feet as well as I could before ruffling her hair slightly. “I am going to be fine; might be I am just getting old?” I suggested with a wink and a slight upturn at the corner of my lips.

Sophia giggled slightly as she shook her head. “Your attitude towards your work will be your undoing.”

“This old man still has some tricks,” I pointed my thumb towards myself. “Just you wait and see, I will catch all the troublemakers in the land before anyone is the wiser.”

“That is what I worry about,” She protested as she shook her head. “Oh, I remember uncle Richard told me you found the culprit of the incident in the Upper Ward. He said even David was surprised at how quickly you solved it.”

I took a sip of the brew from the dark tea blend, savoring its gentle taste as I sat down on the leathery sofa, and contemplated turning on the radio before deciding it would not improve the current state of things whatsoever.

“I was lucky; everything lined up rather conveniently for me to put the pieces together,” I looked towards the ceiling, following the white stucco around the junction of wall and ceiling.

As afternoon turned to early evening, Sophia's aunt, Tacey Gardener, joined us in the dinner preparation; providing me with a reason as to why Sophia had brought so many ingredients with her. I was barely managing to stay awake, but the company was not disagreeable, especially given the delightfully fried fish, soup, and simmered vegetables I got in return. Regardless of what the leading health experts might say in their pursuit of immortality, my body could certainly testify to the nourishment I felt washing over me in waves at that moment.

The turntable on the small sofa-side table provided nice ambience over dinner, as Tacey pointed to the small plant she had brought with her to decorate the dinner table. I believe she called it a Hyacinth? Regardless, its soft blue and purple hues shone a bright light on the mood of the room; blooming splendidly before us, as it fought a brave battle to keep itself existing among the changing circumstances of the world around it.

**— // —**

After Sophia and Tacey had left, I fought a slowly losing battle against falling asleep as the clock wound onward, slowly approaching midnight with each mechanical tick. The three short loud knocks to my front door shook me to my senses once again, and I felt a little better off than I had throughout the entire day. I noticed immediately that I must have dozed off while reading; because my posture and range between face and paper, could certainly not be described as beneficial to the pursuit of consuming literature.

Another three light but eager knocks echoed throughout the hallway, and I did my best to pick myself up once more. I swiftly walked towards the door and messed up my hair slightly to look somewhat less sleepy.

As I opened the front door, I found a panting Eric; wide-eyed and red in the face as he sputtered and did his best recover his calm in front of me.

“M-Mr. Detective, I-I found something relevant to your request. B-but…”

_Something is wrong._

_There should have been no reason for Eric to rush to my house in such a hurry. ‘He must have been chased,’_ that was the first thought which entered my mind. An impulse I could only react on immediately shot through my body, as I felt my heart sink and my breath quicken in an instinctual response to danger.

I quickly shoved the disheveled orphan boy inside the entryway behind me and fixed my gaze forward to the railings that connected the entryway to each flat; noticing nothing in front of me being amiss. My apartment was on the corner after turning a right from the landing on the third floor of the building. Looking down, I saw a few shallow drops of the boy's blood on the landing in front of my doorstep. My teeth involuntarily clenched down on themselves painfully, as my ears heated up in anger and my left eye twitched.

I reached out a hand towards my sword, finding it in my hand almost immediately. Unsheathing the blade swiftly, the orange runes on the blade's base caught my eyes as they glowed in the moonlight. I tossed the scabbard aside, glancing briefly at the boy on the ground behind me. I noticed he had a few wounds on his chest and legs, as well as a few scratches on his throat.

"What happened, Eric?" I questioned quickly.

“I-I don't know, Mr. Detective. As soon as I finished up my business with Oliver — an orphan who said he had something you might be interested in — a-all these wounds started appearing,” Eric rushed through his explanation in a panic; shaking on the ground as he looked pleadingly at me with wide eyes. “A-Am I going to die?”

“You'll be fine, Eric. You are not ill, nor have you been cursed. You were just unfortunate.”

I could smell a heavy air of ozone around me, and I knew now what I was dealing with. A specter; a supernatural creature who never makes its presence known till nightfall; chasing their targets without end, slowly wounding them in vital areas, until eventually, they bleed out and die. Truthfully, I was not exactly worried about being struck by the beast. In fact, one needed to suffer their blows for quite a while before succumbing to blood loss. Yes, they were somewhat weak, but they were also invisible to the naked eye. An issue that was all the more pressing, given that I had no hunter equipment save my sword; not even a single glitterdust bomb lying around in storage for a rainy day.

I withdrew my sword from my offensive stance, carefully angling it up to rest on my left shoulder while my left arm served as a protecting layer to my vital organs as I stood blocking the doorway.

_It may avoid striking the silver blade, but it will aim to do as much damage as possible when facing more than one target._

Usually, specters would pick out a single human, gradually wearing them down until they collapsed due to exhaustion. They were immaterial enough to not reflect any light from their person, but glitterdust, when stuck to their wispy forms could reveal where and how they moved. This also meant that a silver sword could erase their existence without too much trouble.

The first strike came on my right flank. A quick sting preceded a burning sensation in my side as the beast struck. Wanting to retaliate as quickly as possible, I swung the sword downward; trying to sever the creature's arm from its elbows. Though when I followed through with my strike, I was met with no contact from the creature's form. I swiftly retook my stance, as I awaited another potential opening, which I could use for my advantage.

The second strike struck my extended left thigh, carving three gashes into my flesh as the creature's claws cleaved through my skin. _The bugger means business now._ I swung my sword immediately, but I missed again. _This is not good; if only I could get a single strike in, I could easily follow and dispatch the beast's movements from its blood flow alone. But I have nothing at all to work with here, and no way to dodge._

 _'Why are you letting that weakling of a creature wound you?’_ Analynn's voice echoed scathingly inside my head; her elderly voice reverberating in my mind's alcoves, clearly displeased at my obvious ineptitude in self-defense.

“I can't see the accursed thing,” I complained out loud, probably as much to myself as to Analynn.

 _‘Can you really not see it? Do you honestly have such little imagination?’_ I felt my irritation rise at her words, but I wisely chose kept my mouth shut. An immortal vampire had chosen my shadow as her lounging space, and there was little I could do in that regard. _‘Have you ever tried to see; properly see, I mean, without the filtration of the world through expectations which was impressed on you? Have you ever thought to try to truly see for yourself?’_

A shiver ran slightly down my spine, as my eyes narrowed in disbelief. _Does she honestly think the invisible can be turned visible if you merely change your frame of mind?_ I shook my head, slightly in protest and denial before I remembered the floating cup from yesterday. A great headache overtook the clarity that had accrued in the last couple of hours, and I began to fear slightly for my safety as I winced in response. In the corner of my left eye, I saw a light shimmering in the air and brought my blade down in a horizontal arc immediately.

This time, the silver connected with the specter and I felt the blade cleanly slice through the creature as I drew the metal down in a smooth arc. As the blade continued its descent, the invisible creature burst into a fountain of blood and flames; sparkling as the supernatural creature was turning to ash before me. Another bout of shivers cascaded down my back in waves, and I felt slightly sick once more.

I closed the door on the creature, letting its ashes fade into the moonlight, as I turned around, and glanced to Eric where he lied vulnerable on the ground. The orphan looked up at me with wide eyes as I stood with my sword in hand. Only now, I realized that I should probably sheathe the blade before I could intimidate him any further. I was about to bend down to my left to retrieve the scabbard from where I had thrown it, but I somehow bumped my head into something. That something was my scabbard; floating at my side like it was the most natural thing in the world. I shook my head and quickly sheathed the blade before placing it back in the corner I had designated for it earlier today. _Or is it yesterday at this point? I can't tell..._ The headaches tightened its hold on my skull, and I staggered on my feet from the protests erupting from within my skull.

“I-I must be hallucinating,” The boy mumbled in an unclear voice. I knew I had to ignore whatever had just happened, so I quickly gathered the orphan up in my arms, and carried him inside my living room; laying him out on the living room sofa, as I gathered my medical supplies to treat his wounds.

After removing his outer layer of clothing, I could easily access the places where he had been struck by the creature. Thankfully, they were all small superficial cuts and scratches, left behind when the specter had tried to sink its claws into the young boy's flesh; likely wanting to gradually slow his approach to a place of residence. _He must have already been close to my building then; it is not like a specter to be wrong about its prey's habits._

I applied a light smear medical ointment on the scuffs and scratches, and bandaged his wounds as best I could, seeing as there was no need for stitching any of the wounds together. When most of his whining had died down, I left him to rest on the sofa, placing a blanket above him, and gathering his tattered clothing to dispose of it. _I'll likely have to lend him some clothing of my own..._ I looked at the handful of wounds around my body, as they were bleeding generously in comparison to Eric's wounds. _The specter really intensified its assault after I got between it and its intended target, huh?_ I prepared to take out the sewing kit to stitch the wounds together, as Eric began to speak.

“Th-thanks, Mr. Detective. I would've been a goner without you this time,” Bitterness filled my mouth for an instant; like I had swallowed a mouth full of ammonium and chased it with pure lime. _You may never have been in this situation in the first place, were it not for me._

“Don't worry about it. Just focus on resting and letting your wounds heal.”

“You told me to find some information about new spots to buy drugs for selling on the streets, right? I came to tell you what Oliver told me,” I took out the needle from the sewing kit, and carefully threaded it, in preparation to begin the agonizing process of stitching my flesh together. The blood flowed out onto my fingers from the wounds I had sustained, and though I wiped the digits thoroughly with a wet cloth, I still found some vestiges of blood sticking to them.

“And what did this 'Oliver' tell you?” I asked, looked at Eric with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, Oliver was one of the orphans serving in The Purple Siren, right?” _No, wait, this can't be happening._ “You must've known since you recommended him... But regardless, he overheard some talk from inside one of the cabins, from one of the frequent visitors.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I began to physically shiver, as a sickening feeling overtook any sensation of pain lingering around my sternum. From the sheer implications of what the orphan before me was saying, a heavy knot formed in my throat as my lungs rapidly lost their breath.

“This man was talking all about how they would trade certain substances to the younger resellers in the pub's back alley, yeah? Well, if you want to start anywhere, it might be good to start there. That's why I came to Mr. Detective's house straight away after getting off my cooking duties.”

I looked at the young orphan in disbelief. If this was true, I had overlooked a significant drug operation happening in what amounted to my very own backyard. Worse is that it must have gone on right under my nose, even while I was present. Eric's messy blond hair fell slightly in front of his bright blue eyes as he stared at me; completely unaware of the internal turmoil his words had caused. I cast my eyes towards the ground, partially in shame.

_This is my failure._

"Uh, Mr. Detective?

"Yes?" I looked back at him wearily. _No more for tonight, please._

"Was your eye-color always red?"


End file.
